e-mail: John Hooper @ Rome
There is a lot about the Via di Salone camp reminiscent of a third world village. If you want good bread in Rome, you can go to the gourmet bakery near Santa Maria Maggiore.
If you want good bread in Rome, you can go to the gourmet bakery near Santa Maria Maggiore. Or you can drive beyond the ring road, off a country lane, down a track and then take to your feet for a walk through the slush and garbage to Ionel's caravan.
His bread has the flavour of whipped cream. It comes in round loaves with thick, seared crusts and is still warm at mid-morning.
Not that any but a handful of Romans would dare set foot near Ionel's caravan, which stands at the far edge of the city's biggest Rom encampment. A cheerful man from Turnu Severin on the Danube, Ionel bakes in an oven he has built - or, rather, shaped - from mud and straw.
It is the sort of thing you would expect to find in Mozambique instead of 40 minutes from the Spanish Steps. But then there is a lot about the Via di Salone camp reminiscent of a third world village.
"Look at it," said Pierluigi Tommasini. "No drainage. No sewage. Not even standpipes." The water comes from a hose slung across a wall next to a rubbish tip.
Tommasini is one of a four-strong team from the Italian NGO Operazione Nomadi. It visits the camp three times a week to provide the basic medical care to which everyone living on Italian soil is constitutionally entitled.
"Some of the people have conditions like scabies and TB that we thought we had eradicated in Italy," said Dr Maurizio Di Marzio. "Smallpox is one. Italy was declared smallpox-free two years ago. It isn't any more."
Through the window, a chicken was pecking around in the mud left by the previous night's thunderstorm. A woman, surrounded by barefoot children, was washing clothes in a plastic tub.
For an instant the scene was blotted out by a shiny 4x4. Further down the lane, it passed by a BMW.
"The people here have a completely different value system to ours," said another of the voluntary workers by way of explanation. "They see nothing odd in living in a caravan with a shack attached to it and driving a car like that."
The camp may seem like hell on earth, yet the people who actually live here think they have struck lucky.
"It's a lot better here," said Ionel to nods of approval from his womenfolk and his son, Liviu. Did he plan to go back to Romania? "No. You joking? I want to stay here." There were more murmurs of endorsement.
Ionel said he had come to Italy eight years ago. But in the past couple of years he has been joined by thousands of Rom compatriots. In 2002, anticipating Romania's entry into the EU, Italy waived visa requirements for Romanian citizens.
The authorities were no doubt thinking of the many Romanians who work in Italy, often as carers for the elderly. But, in Rome at least, what they got in addition was several thousand Rom, who cling to the outermost edges of the city's economy and are putting a visible strain on its welfare system at a time when it is suffering repeated cuts ordered by the central government.
Some of the Rom work in marginal activities like scrap metal collection. Some beg. Some busk. And, as the voluntary workers make no attempt to disguise, some become involved in criminal activity.
Tommasini explained that one of the authorities' few contributions to the camp's amenities had been the high wire perimeter fence behind him, constructed specially to prevent suspects from escaping police raids.
Over his shoulder, the steel mesh ran in from either side to a gap where an entire section had been neatly extracted from the concrete foundations.
His bread has the flavour of whipped cream. It comes in round loaves with thick, seared crusts and is still warm at mid-morning.
Not that any but a handful of Romans would dare set foot near Ionel's caravan, which stands at the far edge of the city's biggest Rom encampment. A cheerful man from Turnu Severin on the Danube, Ionel bakes in an oven he has built - or, rather, shaped - from mud and straw.
It is the sort of thing you would expect to find in Mozambique instead of 40 minutes from the Spanish Steps. But then there is a lot about the Via di Salone camp reminiscent of a third world village.
"Look at it," said Pierluigi Tommasini. "No drainage. No sewage. Not even standpipes." The water comes from a hose slung across a wall next to a rubbish tip.
Tommasini is one of a four-strong team from the Italian NGO Operazione Nomadi. It visits the camp three times a week to provide the basic medical care to which everyone living on Italian soil is constitutionally entitled.
"Some of the people have conditions like scabies and TB that we thought we had eradicated in Italy," said Dr Maurizio Di Marzio. "Smallpox is one. Italy was declared smallpox-free two years ago. It isn't any more."
Through the window, a chicken was pecking around in the mud left by the previous night's thunderstorm. A woman, surrounded by barefoot children, was washing clothes in a plastic tub.
For an instant the scene was blotted out by a shiny 4x4. Further down the lane, it passed by a BMW.
"The people here have a completely different value system to ours," said another of the voluntary workers by way of explanation. "They see nothing odd in living in a caravan with a shack attached to it and driving a car like that."
The camp may seem like hell on earth, yet the people who actually live here think they have struck lucky.
"It's a lot better here," said Ionel to nods of approval from his womenfolk and his son, Liviu. Did he plan to go back to Romania? "No. You joking? I want to stay here." There were more murmurs of endorsement.
Ionel said he had come to Italy eight years ago. But in the past couple of years he has been joined by thousands of Rom compatriots. In 2002, anticipating Romania's entry into the EU, Italy waived visa requirements for Romanian citizens.
The authorities were no doubt thinking of the many Romanians who work in Italy, often as carers for the elderly. But, in Rome at least, what they got in addition was several thousand Rom, who cling to the outermost edges of the city's economy and are putting a visible strain on its welfare system at a time when it is suffering repeated cuts ordered by the central government.
Some of the Rom work in marginal activities like scrap metal collection. Some beg. Some busk. And, as the voluntary workers make no attempt to disguise, some become involved in criminal activity.
Tommasini explained that one of the authorities' few contributions to the camp's amenities had been the high wire perimeter fence behind him, constructed specially to prevent suspects from escaping police raids.
Over his shoulder, the steel mesh ran in from either side to a gap where an entire section had been neatly extracted from the concrete foundations.
Use the feedback form below to submit your comments.
Use the form below to email this article to your friends.
